Steelie stood at Carol’s counter, knowing that their receptionist already had an idea of what she was about to say, since she’d put Chuck Talbot’s call through and she could read Steelie’s smile. But Jayne had no idea. She raised her eyebrows at Steelie, who announced, ‘Thomas Cullen has been positively identified in Anchorage.’
Jayne just stood still, returning Steelie’s grin, so it was Carol who started clapping first. A slow clap that skipped two beats in between, then gradually sped up to one beat in between. Jayne joined in, then Steelie, until they were clapping as fast as they could, like a team psyching itself up after a mid-season win.
Two men from A-1 Electrics delivered the generator to Agency 32/1 just after 4 p.m. As it turned out, they didn’t need to spend much time inside the building, as the generator was installed just behind the building, in its own security cage. Just before 5 p.m., Jayne heard Carol announce that Scott was holding on Line 1 for her. She located her copy of the examination report on the freeway body parts, expecting him to ask why there wasn’t more to it. Leaving aside the surgical plate in the right arm, they’d only been able to conclude:
– Minimum Number of Individuals: 2. One female, one sex indeterminate
– Left arm: Female, 40 years ± 15, possible Caucasian, healed fractures, possible antemortem defense wounds
– Right arm: Female, 40 years ± 15, possible Caucasian, mid-shaft surgical plate conjoining proximal and distal humerus
– Leg: Sex indeterminate, 20 years ± 5, possible Caucasian
– Torso: Sex indeterminate, 18 years+, possible Caucasian
It hadn’t looked like much because there was a limit to what a purely external examination could deliver. But then there was that surgical plate in the upper arm.
Scott sounded buoyant. ‘I’ve got good news.’
Jayne sat up straighter in her chair. ‘Let me have it.’
‘We’ve got an ID on the arm. Or I should say, arms plural, though that’ll have to be confirmed by DNA later.’
‘Was it the plate?’
‘Yes. That was a great find.’
‘It was just sitting there waiting for us! The hard part was not reflecting back the flesh to expose the humerus right there and then.’
‘You kind of scare me when you talk like that, Jayne.’
‘Sorry. So is she one of your missing women from Georgia?’
‘Unconnected. She’s a Mrs Patterson from Carlisle, Oregon.’
‘Carlisle?’
‘Outside Portland.’
‘Was she in NCIC?’
‘That’s the interesting part. She was but not listed as suspicious missing. And get this: she went missing two months ago. Eric’s been trying to get details from Oregon. We’ll be sending the arms to the coroner up there after we’ve got the results on whether the left arm goes with the right.’
Jayne looked at the report in front of her. ‘And maybe you can run DNA on the torso? That’s the other BP that could have been hers.’
‘We’re all over that.’
‘I take it you won’t be running DNA from the younger person’s leg through CODIS, given that we couldn’t even tell you what sex it was?’ She was referring to the FBI Laboratory’s Combined DNA Index System.
‘Even if the Bureau would let me, it won’t be worth it – not enough information. And the leg’s not one of your cases?’
‘Not enough information.’
‘Tell me about it.’
She recalled Scott’s desire to get around the backlog at the coroner’s office when he’d asked 32/1 to do the preliminary investigation. ‘So you’re OK with the leg and maybe the torso going to the LA coroner’s office after all?’
‘ID’ing Patterson makes up for a lot.’
‘Yeah.’ Jayne smiled. She had said almost those exact words to Gene when he was looking at the 32/1 filing cabinets. Gene had been negative but here was Scott, sharing her positive perspective. This was why she liked the man. ‘How’s the search for the van going, if you can say?’
‘Actually, we’ve got a lead on that and . . . I’ve . . . gotta run.’
Jayne knew Carol had left while she was on the phone, so she went in search of Steelie and found her in the kitchen, washing up cups. She told Steelie about the identification of Patterson.
‘Mrs? Sounds like he thinks she was married,’ Steelie commented. ‘I’ll bet it was her husband who gave her all those fractures.’
‘Or maybe she divorced him and married a new guy.’
Steelie looked at her. ‘You live in a dream world.’
‘You live in a lawyer’s world,’ Jayne retorted lightly.
‘Oh, that reminds me. Did you remember the raffle ticket books?’
‘Damn. I completely forgot.’
‘It’s OK. I did too, until someone from Legal Aid called to remind me that I’d volunteered.’
‘You need them today?’
‘Yeah. The raffle’s tomorrow morning so I have to go straight there—but I don’t have to stay. Can I swing by your place tonight and get them?’
‘Yeah, I’ll be in.’
‘I’ll call when I’m nearby. Should be around eleven.’
‘That late?’
Steelie turned to go. ‘I have that thing with those people. Don’t ask.’
The pinky-white flower heads waved high above the gaura plants as Jayne carefully lifted them out of her truck. Next were the two geums: absolutely shameless doubles in a clear red, swooning in front of anyone who came near, and sure to meet with Marie’s approval. Jayne nestled them in the two terracotta pots she’d bought to replace the ones by her door. She was still debating about whether the damage had been inflicted by possums or raccoons; either had the strength to tip over cacti pots. She made her way up the stairs to her apartment, reached the landing and then stopped.
Three metal washtubs filled with blooming white daisy bushes were arrayed next to her front door. The tubs were different yet complementary sizes, their shine artfully worn off in places. Jayne thought the arrangement was gorgeous, like something from a magazine, and it made her doorway look hip and inviting. She stood back, admiring first them and then her mother, who had to be responsible for this transformation. She’d have to remember to call her after she’d potted the other ridiculous flowers she’d bought, which could now live on the deck. She went inside.
TEN
Jayne had fallen asleep on her sofa but the scraping noise woke her. She sat up, pushing the open book on her lap to the side, and turned to look at the front door. It was too early to be Steelie and it sounded too loud and definitive to be an animal poking around. It sounded like a person was out there and now . . . were they gone? Without a window to look through, she only had a few choices. She could wait for the sound again and try to identify it, look through the peephole, or open the door. The peephole was out. She’d seen a film where someone was shot through the eye doing just that. And she had seen too many people lying dead on autopsy tables after having let their killers in the front door. So she waited to hear the sound again. She almost jumped out of her skin when her cell phone came to life, its vibrations creating a buzzing noise against the coffee table’s glass surface.
‘Hello?’ she half whispered.
‘It’s Steelie . . . are you OK?’
‘I thought I heard a noise.’
‘What kind of noise?’